And all would turn
by MidnightBlast
Summary: Inman meets a young woman who offers him food and shelter on his journey home. She offers him everything, including her heart. But what is there that he could possibly help her with or do for her in return?
1. A pale moon rises

Author's Note: First fanfic ever. I saw _Cold Mountain _and have read the book a few times and my heart went out to Inman, through every thing he endured and underwent just to get home. So, this story is about another character that I think he deserved to meet—one that helps him on his way home.

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of _Cold Mountain_, the characters or the story...or the mountain and town itslef, nor the short excerpt from Dumas' _The Three Musketeers _(which appears in a later chapter).

Chapter 1: A pale moon rises

Night had fallen. The sun slipped quietly behind the mountaintops just as it had done every night, casting its hues of pink, purple and blue across the sky. Another day of work done, but she knew better than to feel regret, self-pity—no. Instead, each day was welcomed as best as it could, with its challenges and surprises. Maggie tossed about under her thick quilt. The heavier winter snows were on their way. Soon, the sky would be layered with thick, gray, snow clouds, but not yet, not this night. She gazed lazily out the window opposite her bed in the cabin—the crescent, pale moon was on the rise. The simple beauty of the mountain winter still fascinated her. A yawn crept to her face and she nestled deeper under the thick quilt, closing her eyes to the rising moon and the beginning of night. Tomorrow would be another day.

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Sorry, short chapter. The rest are longer and will be posted soon. 


	2. Sleep now

Disclaimer: I still own nothing _Cold Mountain_ related, excpet my own orgininal characters. The rest...uh-unh.

Chapter 2: Sleep now

Yet again, she awoke to the waning moon and rose to set about her tasks. There was a cow to be milked and fed; water to be fetched and boiled, all before breakfast.

"Another day..." she muttered quietly, before letting a sigh escape. Drawing her coat in closer around her, Maggie walked briskly across the farm yard. A mountain winter's morn was always bitingly cold, regardless of falling snow.

The barn latch hadn't frozen over night, and it gave way quite easily to her gloved hands. Milking Bessie in the cold of morning was her least favorite farm chore, but something that always had to be done. As she picked up the bucket and set to work, her mind wandered to the memory of the one time she forgot. Will, her eldest brother by 10 years, promised that she would never forget again—sure enough, every time a bolt of pain shoots through her shoulder blade she always thinks about that time. A smile spread onto her face. God, how she missed them. All three of them. Will, Matt and John—all swept away forever by the ravages of the Civil War.

It had just been the four of them, living together, surviving together, working together, struggling...and succeeding in making their family farm a success. And now, now everything was up to her. Her two eldest, Will and Matt, taught her everything they learned and knew. And by the time they enlisted, she knew everything they knew, if not more. And now, more than ever, she was eternally grateful to them for everything. She sniffed back the tears forming in her eyes—she missed them so, and since their departure had only sparse contact with others, namely raiding Union soldiers—but could not afford herself any self-pity. Brushing back a stray curl, she rose with the now full milk bucket in hand. The hay crunched beneath her boots as she crossed the small barn to set down the pail and gather hay for Bessie.

"Bet you get lonely too, huh?" she asked, dumping the hay out of the barrel, "No other cows around...just you..." she trailed off, reflecting on that truth that was her life. No matter though...nothing to be done about it now. She buttoned up her coat and prepared to brave the walk across the yard to the cabin.

Nothing eventful had happened—it was just a day. But she wished for some excitement, something different to happen. But with all her work done and everything in its proper place, she found her life's only source of excitement—a book. _The Three Musketeers. _She must've read it twenty times. It had been Matt's at one time. She opened it randomly as she often did and began reading.

" 'One of my friends, –one of my friends, please to observe, not myself," said Athos, interrupting himself with a melancholy smile, –"one of the counts in my province, noble as a Dandolo or Montmorency, at twenty-five years of age fell in love with a girl of sixteen, beautiful as fancy can paint. Through the ingenuousness of her age beamed an ardent mind, not of the woman, but of the poet. She did not please; she intoxicated. She lived in a small town with her brother, who was a curate. They were said to be of good extraction. My friend, who was seigneur of the country, might have seduced her, or taken her by force, at his will, – for he was master. But unfortunately, he was an honorable man; he married her. The fool! The ass! The idiot!'

'How so, if he loved her?' asked D'Artagnan."

She stopped reading, already knowing the end to Athos' story. The love of his life was branded with a fleur-de-lis, the mark of a murderer. She had lied to him about everything and it had turned the count's heart to stone. Maggie vowed to herself if she was ever was in love, never to lie to him. Chances were there would only be one man who would ever walk into her life what with her living miles from Deerswtich, the nearest town, and she never wanted to risk losing him. But she didn't think about the end of the story, she thought more on what their lives were probably like before the count discovered the brand. Full of happiness, joy, love...everything she truly wanted life to be, but knew could never come to her. She pushed such romantic thoughts out of her mind. There was no point to wasting anymore time—those thoughts would get her nowhere. She set the book down and walked to the stove to check on dinner. The fire smoldered low and would soon go out. Thankful for the day's last bit of sun, she pulled her shawl over her shoulder and headed for the cabin door. She noticed her small porch supply was running low—something else she would have to do in the morning. She reentered the cabin and stoked the fire to a good flame before returning to the porch to gather a few smaller sticks. The setting sun cast shadows upon the farm yard and shrouded the porch in long shadows. She shook back the curls that had fallen into her face as she rose from the wood pile, gazing at the world around her. Immediately, she jumped back, crashing into the post, her breath catching in her throat.

"I'm sorry, Miss. I didn't mean to frighten you none..." 

"No...it's alright. You just startled me, s'all." She recovered her breath and brought a hand to her chest. "I'm sorry. There hasn't been a person, save for me, around here for some time." The scruffy, rough stranger regarded her with green eyes filled with curiosity and coldness.

"I heard noise...and followed it..."

"It's alright. I don't mind that you wandered here." Her words came fast and excitedly. She was just startled and somewhat glad to see another person.

"What? For all you know, I'm a killer...on the run, hiding out, taking and killing as I go..." Her relaxed attitude caught him off guard during a time when everyone was up in arms about strangers passing through. She tilted her head to one side and looked closer at him—his hands were open at his side, and the butt of a pistol stuck out clearly from his waistband.

"You could be," she said, "But in my heart, I don't think you are." Her hazel eyes locked with his for a brief second, as though she was looking to find something. "You're shivering..."

"I'll be alright once I get going again..." he turned from her as though to leave.

"Please..." he stopped and turned back around, "Won't you come in for a warm fire and something warm to eat? You look half-dead, as though you've been walking for weeks without rest."

"Thanks Miss, but I'll be movin' on. I'm a deserter—if I'm found that would be trouble for the both of us." The genuine trust that she was showing to him by openly offering him her hospitality struck him. Did such trust come naturally to her? Could such trust come naturally to anyone?

"Please..." she stepped off the porch, snow crunching beneath her feet, "Please. It's no trouble. The soldiers, from both sides, have been gone from here for many months now. There's naught here they want anymore. Besides, I could do with the company, and from the looks of it, you could do with food and rest." A soft inviting, hopeful smile spread across her fair face.

"Thank you..." he said ever so quietly as though she might suddenly change her mind. Her smile grew and filled out her thin face as she tightened her shawl around her shoulders and headed for the cabin porch. He followed slowly behind, inwardly looking foreword to warm food and a warm fire. She pushed open the wooden door and instantly the heat from the fire grazed against his chapped, cold skin, like a welcome whiff of summer in a winter's storm. She listened for his footsteps on the hardwood cabin floor behind her but instead a scuffing, scrapping sound was to be heard.

"That's considerate of you." She said, noticing his efforts to scrape the snow and water off his boots.

"It's the least I could do after the consideration you've shown for me."

"You're welcome Mr...." she trailed off, suddenly realizing that she didn't even know his name.

"Inman."

"Mr. Inman."

"Naw...Inman's fine." He shrugged, raising his eyes from the floor to hers. "And your name, Miss?"

"Maggie..." she closed the door behind him as he entered the semi small cabin, full of its warmth and inviting aromas from the stove.

"Thank you again, Miss Maggie." Her light laugh filled the air—a sound that to Inman reminded him painfully of Ada, her voice and laugh he so longed to hear.

"Just Maggie is fine." She motioned to a chair at the table and she turned to head to the stove to fix him and herself a plate. His pack fell soft against the wood floor and he removed his hat and jacket before sitting down.

"Where do you hail from...Inman?" she stumbled around the lack of formality surrounding this man she barely knew.

"Uh, A tiny town in the North Carolina mountains, name o' Cold Mountain. S'Where I'm on my way to."

"Well, you're not so far away. About a week's journey on foot from here." She was sure his eyes lit up at her remark as she turned from the stove with two brimming bowls of hot beef stew.

"Here..." she said, setting the bowl before him and sitting herself, "This should warm you up quite nicely."

"And what about you? Your husband leave you to fight?" he quickly asked before digging into the stew.

"No. I have never been married. But the war took the lives of my three brothers who lived and worked on this farm with me." A flood of memories skittered rapidly across her mind. "I've lived here and worked here—alone—since they left nine months ago." She lowered her head and dove into the soup herself. Surely, if he wanted to know more, he would ask. No sense in rambling on.

"And you manage the whole farm on your own? Very well, from the looks of things." Inman said in between bites.

"My mother died when I was but two and my father was...well, he was never around, so it was up to my brothers and me to make a living for ourselves. Will and Matt worked for some local farmers for a few years, learning how to run and maintain a farm. When they knew enough, they quit and taught me and John the ins and outs of farming. From there, we made our living farming. So, when it came time for them to enlist, they had given me the makings of survival out here." He nodded his head, mouth full. His respect for her grew—anyone who could etch a living in these mountainsides deserved it, and for her to have succeeded despite her loses with no replacement, to him, was something admirable.

"Your stew's very good Maggie."

"Thanks Inman." She raised a small smile, noticing the firelight dancing in his green eyes. Quickly lowering her eyes to her soup, she realized she'd been staring. The rest of their meal passed in silence, save for the occasional sounds of a spoon scraping against the bowl's edge or the squeak of a chair. She rose and headed for the stove, returning with a warm pan of bread.

"I'm afraid it isn't much—I wasn't expecting a guest and I don't bake much for myself, but you're welcome to what you would like."

"Oh no, please. I feel bad enough taking your stew—much less the bread you baked for you to eat."

"I eat bread and stew almost everyday. From the looks of it, you eat once a day, if even that. Please...have your fill. I don't mind." He accepted her kind offer, finding that it complimented the stew wonderfully, and had a small haunting aftertaste of guilt.

"Thank you Maggie." His voice was laced with exhaustion as she took his empty plate to be washed. Having deposited both hers and Inman's dishes in sudsy warm water, she moved about the cabin to draw the covers back on a vacant bed for him.

"Your bed is here...ready and waiting...for whenever you feel so inclined." She moved back to the wash basin, turning her back and scrubbing away. He sat, somewhat bewildered. There didn't seem to be anything her heart wasn't willing to sacrifice to help him, a total and complete stranger. Most kindness this extensive, in his experiences, required and expected eventual compensation—something which he was in no position to return. It troubled him that there would be very little he could do to return her generosity, but with night having already fallen, there was little he could do about his situation. He rose to his pack and retrieved his rolled book, containing Ada's letters and photo. Even though she wasn't smiling in the photo, Inman could clearly recall her smile, her soft skin glowing under the summer's sun, her blonde curls blowing gently in the breeze. He could only hope in his heart that she was still waiting...that she would still remember him...that he could love her.

"She's very pretty. What's her name?"

"Ada...Ada Monroe." His words sounded distant, as though his mind was in Cold Mountain. He hadn't even seen Maggie cross behind him and cast a sideways glance at the photo.

"She's the reason you're risking your life to return home, isn't she?"

"Yes...and there are others."

"As in any decision, there are." She agreed, remembering clearly all the reasons her brothers felt compelled to enlist. His eyes closed, what with his mind full of pleasant thoughts of Ada, his stomach full of warm food, and his body warmed by the strong fire.

"Come on, in to bed with you. You need sleep." She helped him to his feet, wrapping her hand gently around his arm to help steady him in his mellow state.

"Thank you, yet again, Maggie." He said quietly, finding sleep beginning to overtake him as his head fell soft against the pillow.

"Ssshh. Sleep now. We'll talk more when you wake." A gentle smile spread across her face as she drew the quilt around him and watched him drift off to sleep.

It was a bit of a disappointment, yet something she should have expected, to hear about Ada. Of course. For what else would be compelling enough to risk such a dangerous trip? The people in the novels she'd read had always done daring, perilous and sometimes foolish things in the name of love—so why shouldn't Inman risk such a journey? And yet...his green eyes had fascinated her from the moment she met him.... She turned quickly from his side and walked to the table. She could only hope and pray that it would pass and not grow into anything more. She picked up his book and the photograph. Ada was truly pretty. And if she had a personality to match her beauty, then why shouldn't Inman love her? Maggie didn't think herself to be pretty, and seeing Ada's photo made her wish she was. Sighing to herself, she placed the photo under the front cover and placed it on top of his pack where he would find it in the morning. Morning...for her, it would come sooner than usual. The moon had already risen quite high in the sky. She stirred the fire down to smoldering embers and pushed it deeper against the brick-back of the fireplace before heading for bed herself. Even though he would be wanting to leave after breakfast in the morning, she still had chores to be completed before she could even think about breakfast.

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more to come.... the rest of it is already written, now its just a matter of getting all up on the site. i should hopefully update it soon. 


	3. Soon you will see

here we go...chapter 3. still, i own nothing _Cold Mountain_ related, excpet my own character. she stems from my brain. the rest...nope, not mine.

Chapter 3: Soon you will see

For once, the cabin door did not creak so loudly. She closed it quickly behind her, not wanting to wake Inman, who was still soundly asleep. Somehow, the prospect of seeing him again so soon seemed to grant her some extra speed in carrying out the usual chores she did every morning. For it seemed as though no time had passed from when she'd crossed the cabin's threshold with empty pails, and then returned with milk and water. Yet again, the door opened with quiet ease and she slipped inside quickly, not wanting to let any heat escape. As she walked across the cabin, hands full, she glanced over and saw Inman still sleeping. He had to have been completely exhausted and she wasn't for the life of her willing to wake him. Breakfast passed, quietly and uneventful, and soon she found herself going about the rest of the day's tasks. Her thoughts stayed excitedly on Inman throughout the day—it'd been so long since she'd seen anyone and his presence was most welcome.

Midday and into the afternoon found her sitting by the hearthside, mending and sewing. It seemed every few seconds her glance was stolen away by him who still lay asleep. Something about him, that she couldn't quite place, intrigued her—maybe it was just that she had been alone for so long that any person would have interested her so, but the image of the firelight in his green eyes stood vivid in her mind. She'd not seen him smile, but she could just imagine what he would look like with one.... She looked at the stitch she just finished and ripped it out. Her focus was not on sewing and it showed—so then what was the point of continuing if it was only to be redone? A discontented sigh escaped her and she let the shirt fall loose to her lap. She rested her head against the back of the chair and her gaze wandered over to Inman for the hundredth time it seemed. He looked peaceful asleep—as though the coldness she'd seen earlier melted away under pleasant dreams. She squinted harder in the fading light—he was shivering. His bed was somewhat far from the fire and the cabin was at times drafty. She rose and fetched the quilt from the end of her bed. Walking softly on the hardwood floor, she neared him and draped the quilt over his sleeping form, tucking it back at his chin. Instantly, he relaxed a bit more and the involuntary shaking ceased. The setting sun cast shadows about the room, and he seemed just a vision to her tired eyes and not real. Absentmindedly, her hand extended down towards his scratched, unshaven face, and gently brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes.

"I hope your dreams are pleasant." She whispered quietly—but then her mind snapped awake. She withdrew her hand back quickly, as though her touch would wake him. Looking him over one last time and deciding he must be warm enough, she turned towards the stove to fix dinner, unable to believe that so much of her emotion was being evoked by the mere presence of this visitor...this stranger.

Steam and savory smells wafted freely from the pot of stew she'd set to simmer. And the bread had just gone into the oven—it wouldn't be too much longer now. She turned and began putting away her mending basket.

"Have I really been asleep all day?" She jerked her head around at the unexpected sound of his voice.

"Yes...yes, you have." She said, a glad smile forming. He shook his head and brought his hands to his face—he couldn't believe it. He felt guilt-ridden about the previous night and had planned to be off the very next morning, but he had stayed over another whole day, and now a whole other night.

"I'm really sorry...I didn't mean to." He said, the guilt he felt showing through his words.

"No, no, its alright," she assured him, "You looked absolutely exhausted last night, and you obviously were." She rose, mending basket in hand and placed it in the corner.

"If you're hungry, I've stew ready. The bread will be done in a little bit, if you want to wait, but if you'd like some stew now, your welcome to it." He raised his head and looked somewhat baffled. Her generosity seemed to have no end, and he felt so guilty for his continuing acceptance of it with no hope of ever being able to return the favor.

"I can wait for the bread." He said, slinging his feet over the edge of the bed onto the cool wood floor. He rose and turned to make up the bed, but stopped as he noticed the additional quilt that had been added since he fell asleep. Never before had he met someone who was willing to offer so much—to him, such benevolence had never existed before. But that's how his problem formed—the idea of never needing help. He cast a quick glance her way—she was bent over, peeking into the oven door to check the bread. He wondered if she thought that way too...and if she did, was there anything he could do to destroy that idea before it could destroy her....

"The bread's ready." Jarred from his thoughts, he raised a silent nod and headed for the table. Neither had much, if anything, to say over dinner. It passed mostly in silence. From the look of it, he was contemplating something—she could almost see the ideas swirling around his eyes. She ate the stew, curious to know what was going on behind his expressionless face.

"Did you sleep well?" Not that the silence needed to be broken, but he had looked peaceful enough and she hoped that his dreams were too.

"Oh, yes, thank you," he said quickly between bites, "And thank you again for the food."

"You're welcome."

"Will you let me do something for you?" he asked, rather hurriedly. A shocked look registered on her face for but a moment before she regained her composure.

"Oh no, you don't have to. I'm not expecting anything in return—"

"Please, let me stay for a few days and help you around here. If you've been alone for as long as you say, I'm sure you could use some help somewhere."

"Inman...please...I don't really need your help, thank you though." She couldn't accept his help—it showed she was weak...but then, she realized that if she should ever need help, she wasn't sure she could ever bring herself to ask for it. He knew it—she had the same ideas he once had. He lowered his head before raising it and regarding her with a somewhat understanding look.

"There isn't anything your heart isn't willing to sacrifice, is there? Except your pride—your ability to accept help from others. And at a time when you may really need it, that foolish pride will turn it away. Let it go. Accept my help—you could use it I'm sure. And after everything you've done for me, it's the very least I feel should I do." She was stunned, shocked—he knew her that well in just two days. She'd been living alone, on her own for so long, forgetting how to accept the help of others, even when she herself gave it so freely.

"I know what that's like—to think you don't need help, maybe you don't," Inman started again, "and to think that its weak to accept other's aide. And now...living entirely on the bits I'm lucky to find and the generosity of people like you. Soon you will see that pride, and those thoughts, just aren't worth it. Everyone needs helps at one point or another during life. Please accept my offer—and then I'll be movin' on, feeling satisfied that I was able to repay you somewhat." Her eyes must have registered the anguish and confusion she felt, for scarcely had he said ten words in one sentence, let alone revealed such deep-felt insights.

"Fine..." a note of forced defeat seemed to emanate from her voice, "Stay as long as you choose—but don't you keep tacking on extra days for each that you eat and sleep here. For I'm not about to stop offering you food and a place to rest as long as you're here."

"I won't," she thought she saw a quick smile surface across his stoic face, "If you've three days worth of fair work, I'll deliver three days fair labor."

"There's things to be done—nothing too pressing, but projects that need doing none the less." He nodded his head in silence, with some of that self-ridden guilt vanishing, lightening his eyes a little it seemed. She had caved in, for she knew he was right. Something in his voice told her he knew it to be true. Yet, surprisingly, she could not help but be excited about him staying longer. Since his arrival, she realized just how much she had missed having someone around. And...something about him brought a smile to her face every time he had looked her way. Her feelings for him were growing with each passing minute she was around him. 

"Thank you." He said before rising from the table. She gathered up the dishes and set to washing, trying not to focus on Inman or that he had made her realize she wasn't—or could ever be—as strong as she had hoped she was.

With the washing finished, she turned towards her bed to turn it down for the night. In passing, she noticed Inman, laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head. She had nothing more she wished to say, so she let him lay and have his quiet thoughts. She was immensely curious to know what all swirled around in his mind and the cause of the hurt that clearly showed in his eyes—all the things he must have seen and witnessed in war, and then his journey towards home. Those would sure have to be some things that would linger in a man's mind. His eyes had looked heavy, as though they were burdened by unpleasant memories. Would his eyes lighten before he left? She wondered.... Having crossed the room quietly, she fell softly to her knees by the fireside. Gently rolling the glowing cinders around in the ash, a smile played across her tired face. These next three days were to be ones she knew she'd treasure a lifetime.

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review if'n ya want. i'll get the fourth chapter up soon....hopefully. 


	4. What can you see

alrighty, chapter 4. thanks for the reviews!!!!!!!!! hope you enjoy this chatper. yes, i know there's a resemblance between some things Maggie says and what the goat-herding woman says in thier converstations with Inman, but i didn't realize it until after i was re-reading and re-editing my story. oh well...it seems to work well.

Disclaimer: yep, you guessed it--nothing _Cold Mountain_ belongs to me. only my solitary characters that only exist in my imagination belong to me.

Chapter 4: What can you see

His first day had quickly come and gone. It had been an awkward day for them both and she was somewhat glad it had passed. She wasn't use to having someone follow her around and she was equally unsure of what jobs to give him to do—she'd grown so use to doing everything herself. Both of these things he could sense—and it put him in an uncomfortable situation as he carried out the work.

She'd offered him a razor and mirror, and had about fallen off her chair when he returned clean-shaven. He really was quite handsome and now even more pleasant to look at. And...his hair seemed shorter, as though it would hang mid-forehead if combed straight. But it had a slight wave to it and at its varying lengths, it always had a tousled look to it that she liked. ...She couldn't believe she'd paid that close attention to his physical appearance and even had preferences about his look. Each moment she was around him, she seemed to discover something else that further endeared him to her, much to the disappointment of her mind.

"Maggie..." she stopped walking at the sound of Inman's voice. "What next?" she glanced back over his shoulder at the farmyard, hoping something would come to mind.

"Ummm...here," she raised one of the buckets she was carrying out for him, "you can come with me to get water. There's a lake not too far from here." The path down to the lake was well-worn from the many years of use and covered in light snow.

"How do you manage to draw from the lake without collecting pebbles or mud?" He asked. The only way he could think of was to wade out in the water—but in the middle of winter, that must be bitterly cold. She pushed aside a tree branch, revealing the decent sized lake—and suddenly, he knew the answer.

"This lake freezes solid in the middle of every winter." That's when Inman noticed a small pick in his bucket and looked up to see her start out across the ice. "The best place to find the cleanest ice is out in the middle. Come on." She turned around and beckoned for him to follow. A bit unsure, he stepped out onto the slick ice and slowly made his way out towards her. She knelt down on the pure white ice, pulled out he pick and began chiseling away. In no time, it seemed, he had joined her.

"John fell through the ice once. It was towards the end of winter, when the ice had thinned. He walked out to get water and fell right through. Lucky for him, Will was not but a little ways from the shore, chopping wood. But he still got a nasty cold, though. After that, he never volunteered to get water again." Inman had heard many stories about people who fell through thin ice—and many of them weren't so lucky. With their buckets full and them equally chilled, they headed for the shoreline. Inman couldn't wait—he would feel so much more comfortable on solid ground. The sun had come out and melted the top layer of ice, giving the lake a nice, slick, glossy surface. Her foot landed on some wet, slippery ice. What little traction she had was instantly lost and she fell backwards. Crashing softly into Inman, who had been following closely behind, broke her fall. He didn't even seem to be caught off guard and now supported her in his arms as she recovered from the shock of falling.

"Are you okay?" he asked, helping to steady her on her feet.

"Oh, yes. Yes, thank you." she found her balance and turned with a thankful smile. She was now so close to him and she filled with excitement.

"Here," he held out her water bucket, "Come one." He titled his head towards the cabin and continued, somewhat unsteadily on the ice. She nodded to herself and followed behind, trying to control her quickened breathing. That was the closest she'd ever been to him—not by his own choosing, of course. And she knew that nothing would ever pass between them—his heart was too far away. But then why...why was she beginning to give him hers? Maybe it was the ease with which he caught her in his strong arms, or the peace that enveloped him as he slept or could it be she wanted to mend the hurt in his eyes? It was something that she couldn't place and something that wasn't about to disappear, as she had hoped.

(later in the day)

The sun had been hidden by passing clouds now, only succeeding in making it feel colder. And even though her hands were gloved, they were still bitterly cold, something that she hoped would disappear when she set to work...when they set to work. Her firewood pile was running a bit low and it was something she used all year round, so off they had set into the woods. It was comforting to her his steps crunching softly in the snow behind her. Now she realized all the pressures living alone out here had caused her. Instead of being on her heightened guard, listening for any sound or looking for sight of anything, she was able to look at the woods and see, for the first time, something beautiful and feel content.

"Here's where I worked last time." She stopped walking and surveyed the small area with cut tree stumps and limbs littering the snow, "So, we can begin in this general area." He walked past her to the other side of the small clearing. She watched him raise the ax high before bringing it down squarely over a tree's trunk. Convinced he knew what he was doing, she turned and headed towards a large, downed tree. Most likely because of ice it just got too top heavy and snapped. She was in need of big, thick logs and could only get them when large trees fell. Holding her own ax high, she let it swing down in stroke after stroke. Before long, the tree lay in six good-sized pieces. Now came the more difficult part: stacking them on the wagon/sleigh. It had at one time been a child's sled, but once modified by her brothers, was very helpful for hauling heavy logs. As she walked over to it, the distinctive sound of wood-cutting could be heard and she could somewhat see Inman through the trees. Mustering her strength, she lifted the log over the edge of the wagon/sleigh. It thumped roughly on the bottom and she rolled it over to make room for more. She straightened up, grimacing, and braced her hands against her lower back. Damn—she'd forgotten to lift and carry from the knees, so her shoulder and lower back were screaming. With the pain subsiding, she faced Inman and was awe-struck. He had the ax raised up and instantly it was down, splitting a log cleanly down the middle. Time and time again, his ax fell, splitting the wood unbelievably clean.

"How did you get to be so good at that? Does it serve any practical purpose—other than proving one's skill?"

"The wood burns faster and makes more heat. Also, the supply tends to last a bit longer." He stacked the freshly chopped wood and set another to be split. "I worked odd jobs," _SH-WOP,_ "back in Cold Mountain, doing whatever," _SH-WOP, _"needed doing."

"Well, that's one skill you obviously learned very well. I never knew it did any good—"

"Can you?"

"Can I? You mean...split wood?"

"Yeah...can you?" he stopped and gave her a challenging look.

"I could...at one time. I haven't done it in years."

"Come on..." he set a long on the tree stump, "It's a skill that will instantly come back." He stepped away and she moved forward, ax in hand. He slung his ax over his shoulder and watched to see—he believed she could. She raised the ax over her shoulder, took a deep breath, and let it go. _SH-WOP._ Two log halves fell on either side of the stump. Impressed, a small smile grew on Inman's face—for log splitting isn't easy and takes lots of practice. A proud smile grew quickly on her face as she turned to look at him and noticed, for the first time, his smile.

"See? It's a skill that once learned never leaves."

"Good thing. Now, thanks to you, I'll be able to make better use of the wood I find." She couldn't believe he was actually smiling.

"Good. Always glad to be of some help." He bent to pick up the log halves and she was so glad to have seen him smile. She thought he would look so much better if he smiled more often. Shaking those thoughts away, she returned to get the rest of the large tree she'd cut up earlier. Before too much longer, they started back for the cabin. The sun was beginning to dip behind the trees and the wood still had to be stacked and dinner cooked.

The wood pile was around the back of the cabin, stacked against the wall under the overhang. Next to it grew a good sized holly bush. It looked the same all year around, no matter the season.

"The red holly berries grow here year round—for that, I am thankful. Its nice to have some color in the middle of dreary winter." She flipped back her loose curls and looked at Inman, whose arms were full of firewood. He silently nodded, locking eyes with her for a brief second before moving on. He said very little, and she said enough. But it worked for both of them. For it was a comfort for her to know someone was listening; for him, a comfort to hear her talk—reminded him that there just might be some goodness and sweetness left in this war-ravaged world. And even though her presence was a constant portal for thinking of Ada, Maggie's talk and pleasing smile almost seemed to temporarily cure his deep longing for her.

(a while later)

The stew was finished, the bread heated up and the table set. It was later than usual, night fell upon the earth and the almost-full moon shone between the trees. Sliding her arm into her jacket, she stepped out on the porch to get Inman, who had been outside for some time.

"Oooo...," a shiver passed through her, "Aren't you freezing out here?" He said nothing, but continued looking at the night sky. "What can you see?" She asked, looking up at the shining stars. He turned and looked briefly at her, as though he just now noticed she was there, before looking up again.

"I wonder if the moon tires of watching the world."

"I suppose...," to her it seemed an odd thing to say, but yet it made her think, "there must be some things the moon has seen that have been too horrendous or foolish..., but it has to keep watching, through the good and bad—has to still be apart of everything..." She walked over and stood next to him, staring up at the moon herself.

"Like this war. To the moon, it must seem pointless. So much more has been lost than gained by it. People've turned feverish, many were lost—but the ones who survived remember...remember it all. I wonder...does such hurt wear away with time...or does it all stay?" He trailed off, suddenly not believing that he was letting himself open up to her so freely. He hadn't really done that before...not even to Ada.

"We're given pain, hurt and hardships, yes...but we're given joy and happiness also. And the heart holds onto the good, and the pain of bad, with time, never stays as vivid or sharp as it once was. In time, pain fades...and joy lasts." How well she knew it to be true. The pain of her brothers' loss had dulled with the passing months, but the joy from the memories was as strong and real as it was when they were together as a family. Inman'd heard the same thing from the goat-herding woman, and it stuck him as odd that both these women believed in the same thing. Then, pain fading must be true...a part of him wanted to believe it, but somewhere his senses were telling him it never would be. Knowing there wasn't a way to find an answer, he lowered his eyes from the sky above, back down to earth and to Maggie's trusting hazel eyes that almost sparkled in the moonlight.

"Blame me if dinner's cold. I shouldn't have rambled on...," he said apologetically, turning towards the cabin.

"No—don't worry. At times, we all need someone to talk to or just someone who will listen."

"Or both?" he cast her a quick glance.

"Or both." She agreed meeting his eyes with hers. They walked up the steps and into the cabin, a quiet understanding passing between them.

"Don't you ever get lonely out here?" he asked as he sat at the table.

"I'd never really allowed myself to think about it—but at times, yes, I get lonely. It comes and goes..."

"As do all things..."

"How is it you seem to know so much?" Immediately, she regretted asking. But he seemed to know so much about life and about people that it fascinated her.

"War...changes men—makes them see things they never saw before, and as a result, things can never look the same again. Every emotion known, and sometimes unknown, to man in present in the trenches—it changes a person...and when it ends, he wonders if he could ever go back..." Much to her surprise he had answered.

"You'll go back—sure, things probably won't be the same. I don't know the things you saw, and I'm not pretending to—but the past does not haunt forever. When you get back to Ada, the happiness you feel with her will, over time, help the bad times to fade away."

"If she's even still waiting. Its been four years to the day since I left Cold Mountain."

"Four years is a long time...but if she ever looked at you the same way you looked at her picture, then I'll guarantee she's waiting for you." Her heart sunk as his eyes lit up. She'd not thought about Ada since the night he arrived when he had pulled out her photo, until now. Now, when she...she loved him. She couldn't believe she was admitting it to herself. There was no point to loving him, for soon, he would leave and she'd never see him again.... She tried desperately not to think about that day—it made her sad already and the day hadn't even come yet. She took to eating again, having shoved all her thoughts to the back of mind, hoping they would sort themselves out over time. Neither said anything more. There just didn't seem to be much else left to say.

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well, there ya go. review if'n ya want! the next chapter should be up hopefully pretty soon... 


	5. In the west

Second to last chapter. Thank you guys so much for the reviews. They have been very much appreciated!! Well, second to last chapter (I think I said that already...oh well, got a lot on me mind.) Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Still, nothing _Cold Mountain _belongs to me.

Chapter 5: In the west

He'd been out shoveling hay all morning. She hadn't thought it was that involved of an undertaking. Perhaps she'd been wrong and she was inwardly glad that she hadn't given him that job on day one, or he might have left, and she had really enjoyed his staying.... She grabbed her coat off the hook and flew out the cabin door towards the holding-barn, determined to help since she'd been the one who told him to do it. With the barn door ajar, she peeked in and saw him shoveling away at the hay, and even though the pile he'd accumulated was good sized, he'd barely made a dent on the hay that covered the holding-barn floor.

"I came to help. I didn't realize the job was so huge, I'm sorry." She said quickly, walking into the barn and grabbing a pitchfork from against the wall. He said nothing in response but paused from shoveling long enough to watch her find a fork and shed her heavy jacket. Even though the day itself was quite cold, she would soon get warm tossing hay. Apparently he had, for she noticed right away that he had shed his outer layers and was wearing just a thin shirt, partially unbuttoned, over his long-sleeved undershirt. To her, he looked good, clean-shaven, but with two days worth of stubble, tousled light brown hair and two brilliant green eyes that, despite the hurt they harbored, were still captivating. She stood beside him and began heaving hay from the ground, up into the pin; ground, pin; ground, pin; ground, pin.

"If you do it that way for too much longer, you're bound to tire out quicker." She stopped and looked at him, surprised.

"Oh. And if you don't mind my asking, what is the proper way?" her voice had a light, friendly tone to it, even though her words were sarcastic.

"Here..." he propped his pitchfork deep in the hay and walked in front of her. He grasped both of her hands, which were wrapped around the pitchfork. "Like this." He shifted her hands around and let her adjust to the new position.

"And...how do I use it, holding it this way?" The position was awkward to her. She'd never held a pitchfork so sideways and didn't know how it could be possibly be of any use.

"Its more of a sideways motion then the up-down one you were using." He released her hands and stepped back demonstrating the motion without using a pitchfork. She watched him and honestly tried to understand what he was showing her, but with his right being her left and him sweeping to the left meant her sweeping to her right...she just couldn't follow it.

"I'm sorry. I still don't quite get it." She studied the fork in her hands and attempted a sideways motion. But it was obviously wrong, for he crossed around behind her. He brought his arms around her shoulders and down her arms, grasping her hands, which were on the pitchfork. "Like this." He said, his voice so close to her ear. He moved his arms in the sideways-sweeping motion, and hers moved with his. After four or five sweeps, he removed his hands and backed away.

"Thank you. I get it now." She tired to sound composed, like she hadn't enjoyed the feel of his arms around her quite as much as she did. Her muscles, remembering the feel of the sweep, guided the pitchfork as it skewered the hay, for her mind was completely gone. His arms had been so warm around her...and of course, it was only because he was teaching her something, it would never be for any other reason. But she pushed that thought out of her mind and channeled her new-found energy from his close proximity into moving the hay, in hopes of being able to accomplish something good.

(some time later)

They had been at it for hours and still, the barn floor looked as though they hadn't even really tried. She glanced out the door, leaning her sweat streaked face against the pitchfork pole. The sun was slipping quietly and serenely in the west, casting its last rays upon the mountain faces, leaving in its wake soft blues, purples, pinks and oranges.

"Inman...we can't finish this job now. We should stop and go in to fix dinner—darkness will come soon."

"Alright." He picked up the fork and walked over to the far wall and leaned the fork against it, before moving to gather up his coat and heavy shirt. She did the same and waited for him by the door.

"You didn't have to come out and help. There must have been other things you needed to do." He said as she closed and latched the thick wooden door.

"Nah—nothing that couldn't wait. Besides, your method of hay pitching was much easier then the way I was doing it. It will without a doubt come in handy in the future." She cast him a thankful smile to which she was sure she saw him, ever so slightly, smirk at.

"I've some more stew for dinner. I know its been the same thing day in and day out, but it keeps well and is easy to fix, plus the bread from last night. Does that sound alright?"

"Sounds good, 'cause I'm hungry and your stew is good."

"Thanks—me too." They reached the porch and entered the cabin just as they were beginning to get chilled by the winds that had at first been cooling them from their strenuous afternoon work.

(later)

She'd set the stew to warming up quietly on the stove, the bred to rising in the warm oven and Inman was at the table reading, so she sat in the rocker by the fire to rest. She ached from the afternoon of pitching hay—her right shoulder hurt even worse than normal. She raised it and gingerly moved it through a small circle. Her face turned into a grimace and she set it down against the rocker back. The chair had a most pleasant, rhythmic creak that had on occasion lulled her to an early sleep. She let her head rest against the back of the chair. Gradually, her eyes closed, exhausted from working and relaxed by the fire's heat.

It wasn't until the creaking stopped, but her footprints were not to be heard, that Inman turned from his book towards her. He had never really noticed before how pretty she was. But now, in the glow of the roaring fire, it was quite clear. Her head rested back against the chair, framed by her loose curls. Her fair skin glowed golden in the firelight and emanated serenity. He rose and slowly walked over to her. He knew she must be completely exhausted to fall asleep before the day's work was finished. A thought to wake her flashed through his mind...but she looked so peaceful and content that he just couldn't bring himself to wake her. He reached his hand out and gently brushed back a stray curl. Her skin was surprisingly soft under his fingers. He hadn't thought it to be so after all the time she spent outdoors in the cold. A soft, dreamy sigh sounded from her and he pulled his hand back as she shifted in the rocker before settling into silence again.

"Sleep well Maggie." A small smile crept to his face as he looked her over one last time before moving away.

Her eyes drifted slowly open—a small, faint light shone out of the darkness before her. It couldn't be that dark it? She sat up in the chair and looked around. Faint shadows played across the dark room. She found the light source—a small candle on the mantle...Inman. It must've been him, since she fell asleep. Dinner...oh no. She'd fallen asleep before dinner. She rose quickly, taking the candle and headed for the stove. The fires were out and things were put away and washed. He didn't.... She walked over towards the table. On a plate, in front of where she usually sat, was an apple and few slices of bread. A note lay next to it.

" For if you wake up and are hungry. –I "

Inman...she held the note close and didn't bother to hide her smile. Only Inman would've though to leave her food, what with her falling asleep before she'd even finished dinner. The more she looked at the plate, the hungrier she became. In no time, she had eaten the bread and apple, leaving behind only the apple core. She set the plate by the stove to deal with in the morning and set about to find a pencil and paper.

" Thank you. –M "

She set it against the candle holder on Inman's bedside table. Surely, he'd see it there. Realizing that she was tired still, she walked quietly to her bed and blew out the candle before falling into bed, fighting off sad thoughts of Inman's departure that would come with the rising sun.

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Leave a note, review or somethin' if'n ya wants. I should be able to get the last chapter up rather quickly. 


	6. We have come now to the end

Here we go, last chapter. Many, many thanks to those who reviewed this story. I wasn't expecting for it to be too well liked--but you guys have honestly surprised me and encouraged me to post more stories once I get them finished. Thank you!!!!!!!! And now, last chapter....

Disclaimer: For the sixth (or is it seventh...or fifth...) time, nothing _Cold Mountain_ is mine. Ne rien pas.

Chapter 6: We have come now to the end

His stay had finally come to an end. The moment her eyes drifted open, she wished it wasn't so, but she knew all things must come to an end. She rose and set languidly about her tasks. If they took her long enough, it might delay his leaving just that much longer. She had left him to sleep in, for surely that extra strength would prove helpful along this last stretch of his journey. She stopped on the porch and looked out to the east. Oranges and pinks streaked across the sky creating a brilliant and beautiful mountain morning. Clouds off to the west suggested that weather would soon move in. And the westerly breeze indicated they would reach likely there before noon. How could he possibly leave on a day like today?

"We have come now to the end..." she muttered to herself, wishing there was a way to convince him to change his mind. She let go a melancholy sigh before pulling open the cabin door, and shutting it quickly behind her.

"Good mornin'." She raised her head to the voice she knew so well.

"Morning, Inman." He stood dressed in his traveling layers, with his loaded pack waiting by the door, his hat and jacket draped across in waiting.

"Your welcome, Maggie." Her smile told him she remembered last night.

"I see that you're...ready to leave." Her smile faded somewhat.

"Uh, yeah, I plan on heading out after breakfast." He said, somewhat glad to finally be on his way home...to Ada. 

"Well then, I'll get started." She crossed the room to the stove. Heat radiated from it and a pan had been set atop it that was softly steaming.

"You...you started breakfast...?" she asked, pleasantly surprised.

"I figured it was the least I could do to help out one last time." He said, trying to hide a faint flush of embarrassment.

"Thank you." A pleased smile grew on her face as her eyes stayed fixed on his. His eyes had lightened some, she noticed. Some of that hurt she'd seen so often had disappeared. He silently nodded his head before he turned to finish making his bed. No matter how she tried to convince herself otherwise, she loved him and would miss him more than words would ever be able to say. And it pained her to think of him leaving, but he had no business staying any longer. A silent sigh of longing escaped her before she turned back to the stove to finish breakfast.

Time moved by too fast. Breakfast was over and cleaned up. After drying the last dish, he moved towards the door to gather his things. She turned from him and stared out the window, fighting back a sad sigh. The thick clouds had rolled in already, winter's full strength was about to hit, but once it had, all would turn to spring. She turned to him again with a warm smile. She resolved not to let him know how much she loved him and hated his leaving.

"You look like a true outdoorsman in your hat."

"Oh," he looked up at it, "It works to keep the snow off my head." She laughed softly and noticed him trying to straighten out his jacket collar.

"Here...let me get that." She walked over to him, raised her hands and smoothed down his upturned collar. She looked up at him in his green eyes and neither one could seem to pull away.

"Well, I should...uh, be going." He broke their gaze and turned towards the door, trying not to think about that look in her eyes.

"You probably should before it gets much later—or the snows start to fall." She followed him out onto the porch that was now shadowed by the thick clouds.

"Don't worry." She said. He turned at the bottom of the stairs with a confused look in his eyes.

"You'll get there...to Cold Mountain. I know you will." Her smile reflected the hope and trust that he'd come to know over his stay. She blamed no one for her surroundings and kept living day by day with that genuine nature. And for that, he respected her beyond words. But for all she knew, there was one thing he had been able to help her learn, that it isn't weak or wrong to accept help from others.

"Good luck. And thank you so much for your help." She smiled and extended her hand to him. She didn't think he'd take too kindly to a hug, having only willingly touched her yesterday, and she didn't want awkward last memories of him. Inwardly impressed by her, he reached out his hand and grasped hers firmly.

"Your welcome. I'm glad I was able to be of some use." He released her hand and she looked with her longing hazel eyes into his green.

"Thank you Maggie, for everything." He said quietly before leaning closer to her and placing a soft kiss on her cheek. Her eyes instantly lit up. He took a step back and turned as if to go.

"Inman. Would you kiss me again?" She asked quickly before she could stop herself. He faced her again, looped his arm around her waist and pressed his lips gently against hers in a sweet, warm kiss that she would remember always. He withdrew slowly, moved his arm from around her and stepped back, ready to leave.

"Bye Inman." Her voice was laced with sadness, and it sounded as though she were on the verge of tears, yet a smile formed on her face. A small smile, his trademark silent, quick nod, and he turned away from her, slinging his pack over his shoulder. That look on her face was almost enough to break his heart—he had seen it once before. It was the same look he saw on Ada's face when he'd left Cold Mountain, and he hoped he would never have to see one like it again. She thought she could feel tears forming in the corners of her eyes just at the sight of him walking on in his life...and out of hers. Lazily, her hand rose to her cheek and brushed tenderly the skin that still tingled from his first kiss.

She could have easily asked him to stay with her. Lord knows she desperately wanted to. But that surely would bring him more pain—knowing that he was breaking her heart by leaving to return to a woman who might have forgotten him completely. And Maggie couldn't do that to him—he had enough hurt swirling around his green eyes. But her last look, in his mind, showed clearly that she was torn by his leaving. And he couldn't stay, he knew that as well as she did. His true love lay in Cold Mountain, and so did his true happiness. If you love someone enough, you want them to be happy, even if it means not being with you—she understood this and let him go. The winter wind whipped wildly about her and snowflakes fell every which way, but she cared not—her mind and heart were with him who was walking away. He stopped at the forest's edge and looked back—she still stood on the porch steps in the lightly falling snow, with a hand resting on her cheek. He raised his hand in the air and gave her a quick wave. Her hand rose up and sent a return wave to him. He then turned and disappeared amongst the trees. Her hand sank reluctantly down to her side—now he was gone. At that instant, the bitter chill of the winter's morn hit full strength. The heavier winter snows fell suddenly in thick sheets. She crossed up the steps, shivering and casting hopeful glances over her shoulder in hopes that Inman had changed his mind and come back. ...but no such luck. He was gone—but the past five days would live forever in her memory...and his kiss. A soft, dreamy smile spread across her face as she reveled in the remembered feel of his arm around her and the warmth of his kiss. With that feel of his lips upon hers lasting a lifetime, she turned and headed into the cabin to pray and hope for his safe journey, his happiness and hers.

end.

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Again, merci beaucoup to those who followed this story to the end. It has really encouraged me as a writer.  
End of my _Cold Mountain_ story, now on to others...in hopes of finishing another one hopefully soon.


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